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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28098804">west side, east side</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kkumeii/pseuds/kkumhua'>kkumhua (kkumeii)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood, Blood and Injury, Gen, philosophical stuff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:08:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>667</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28098804</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kkumeii/pseuds/kkumhua</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>didn't know where to go.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>west side, east side</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>
  <strike>hey there, demons. it's me, ya boy.</strike>
</p><p>i would have liked to say that two months is a new record for me, but i actually whipped this up on august third and never let it see the light of day until now. it was planning to be a series but alas, writers rarely accomplish what they plan for.</p><p>the title and description are lyrics from txt's puma, which is actually what this work is based on. in fact, the main character in this is supposed to be yeonjun, but i didn't develop the character enough for him to be considered yeonjun.</p><p>enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>All living beings are born with the instincts for survival in this world; a ruthless competition over limited resources and who can adapt to their environments quickly. They’re ingrained in our bodies before our parents even touch us.</p><p> </p><p>But, alongside these natural instincts, humans are the only known species to possess minds capable of understanding and use the ability of reason. Using this advantage, they’ve dominated the entire planet under their rule and created inventions that seemed impossible.</p><p> </p><p>However, even with how far humans have progressed, underneath the voices that call for reason and rationality are mere animals. Instincts still remain no matter how rational one may be. It’s seen in times of desperation; war, famine, disease, and even death.</p><p> </p><p>In war, there are no morals. People are simply separated into two sides: allies and enemies. Dehumanizing people is necessary for war, or else one may end up getting killed themselves. It’s simple to say that one is able to kill. But underneath that short and simple word is a loaded meaning. Life is fragile; cultivated with such care and yet easy to take away. Every life lost is someone’s child. Even without laying a single finger on the heart, one can make the ever-pulsing muscle cease. Untold thoughts and precious memories are lost forever, thrown into Tartarus and never to return to see the light of day. When blood is on one’s hands, it can be washed with enough water. But the dyed liquid is a mere reminder of how things truly can never be washed away.</p><p> </p><p>This black and white vision determines if there’s any chance of survival.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The deep ache nudging at his consciousness within the darkness wakes him. His blank mind, like an untainted canvas waiting to be dyed, gradually absorbs his surroundings. His hands twitch and he feels dexterity returning to each muscle fiber in his fingers. Slowly, gaining what strength he had, he lifts his head. Through the thin weaving of his clothes, the jagged rocks nearly rip the fabric and feel cold to the touch. A sudden jolt of pain runs down his leg and arm. A flash of light crosses his mind and he recalls how he got into a place like this.</p><p> </p><p>Gunshots roared behind him as he sprinted, his legs carrying him at an unimaginable speed. He faltered when a few of them grazed his skin, burning hot at immediate contact. He hissed at the searing hot patches spreading at his limbs but continued to strain his muscles. His mind was only thinking of survival, an instinct ingrained into all living things. He kept running until he reached a clearing from the forest; a terrain of rugged mountains and a nearby cliff. He slowed his pace, his sprint winding down to a jog and all the way down to small steps until his legs collapsed. His mind was exhausted from the rush of adrenaline spotted with black before completely fainting, his body colliding with the solid ground with a painful thump and all was lost.</p><p> </p><p>Out of his flashback, he notices a strange sensation from the side of his left arm. A thick liquid, still warm, was pooling down his arm. He brings his right hand to touch the area and feels the lukewarm liquid. Retreating his hand, he observes the newfound substance staining his fingers.</p><p> </p><p>It was red. Not like the bright color of the rubber toys that he saw children carrying around. It was dark, sticky, and...intriguing, like a ripe cherry waiting to be devoured. The liquid seeps between the distinct lines of skin between his hands and dries quickly, creating marks of his fingerprints. He soon catches a whiff of the substance, the metallic scent overwhelming his senses.</p><p> </p><p>He tilts his head, soaking in the bright moonlight as he reaches out his tongue to lick the crimson liquid from his lips. He savors the strong and dominating flavor of iron coating his tongue, snickering as he bathes in his first night of freedom.</p>
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